


Chocobo, Coeurl, and Moogle

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Food Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 06:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Three fantastic creatures inspire three fantastic dishes.Part 1: Ignis/NoctisPart 2: Nyx/NoctisPart 3: Ravus/Noctis





	1. Black Chocobo

Delicacies from across Lucis had been spread out in offering for the royal retinue. Tables set in a neat line, laden with food and samples stretched and shoved into every square inch of available space. Delicate little cards were weighted in place beneath plates and trays, steaming bowls of soup and stew clearly marked and covered. The tables started at one edge of the cleared grounds that would soon be bustling with fair goers and curious officials within the next few days, replaced with stalls and games. Small tables would soon be cleared for petting zoos and rides, but now had covered tables, circled out like a bistro. 

For today, the ranch was closed to the public. 

Today was meant to be for Noctis— a rite of royal passage where he selected one of the many colourful chicks from the nests of brooding hens to be raised as his own mount. An archaic tradition, that furthered the idea of a royal lineage stretching back across the centuries. He was meant to select from the coloured chicks in a specific pen, all golds and silvers, shining in the sun as the golden mother struggled to wrangle her chicks into behaving. But he found himself drawn to the blues and greens, and honeyed yellows. 

And to the black feathers so proudly displayed on every crest and emblem the ranch claimed.

Ignis sat with him in the summer sun, shaded by the leafy branches overhead— the ranch cut from Insomnia’s forested southern reaches, the stables the only part of the protected area accessible by road— a plate of offerings in his lap now shared with the prince pressing shoulder to shoulder. 

“They have the black feathers though,” Noctis said, picking at the remnants of the sandwich Ignis had selected from feast. 

“Yes, but those are merely for show,” Ignis had sampled the stews and soups, the cold dishes of fish and chilled fruits set out in bowls of chipped ice that was quickly melting in the heat. The canvas covers and shads set up across the future fair grounds doing little to ward off the summer heat, but the trees offering a respite with the gentle breezes and cooler grasses beneath them. “Some have even thought those feathers to be fake.”

“Fake?” Noctis glanced at the trophies in question— a proudly displayed fan of black plumage, sealed behind glass and magic for centuries. Noctis could feel the telltale sensations of royal magic around them, a faint testament to authenticity, no matter how old. “But they’re from my family.”

“And as we know, your family has never lied to before.”

“Fair point.”

Noctis smiled, and settled against Ignis, the remainder of lunch abandoned to the side as he looked over the people milling about the tables, the chicks coming in an array of colourful plumage wandering around with fearless little clucks as they chased for scraps. At the desert table, with it’s arching chocolate feathers delicately curled over cakes and sweets and steadfastly refusing to collapse under the summer heat. They were mirrored in every cupcake and in every bowl— crisp bouquets of chocolate feathers tinged in colour along the ragged edges.

“I think I’d want a black chocobo, though.”

“They’re unruly and stubborn,” Ignis sighed, following the gaze to the desserts. To the covered selections of ice creams and sweet scones, of cakes and tarts piled high with chilled fruit slices. Sweets and confections to use for toppings set in little bowls, but bouquets of those feathers— the sweets that made the ranch famous for more than just the birds. He stroked a hand through Noctis’ hair as he mulled over the offerings from a distance. “I dare say that it would be perfect for you.”

“Are we sure they’re extinct?”

“Perhaps they’ve taken a human form? And settled into royal life.”

“Kweh, Specs.”


	2. Galahdian Coeurl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx takes Noctis to the first morning market of the season.

“There’s more to Galahd than just the spice, little star,” Nyx grinned as he spoke, as he took Noctis’ arm to guide him through the busy streets of the markets reborn for the season. “I prefer to think that I’m really the only hot thing to come off the islands.”

Noctis responded in the only manner he could, with a roll of his eyes and a persistent nudge towards the stalls and tables overflowing with the raw ingredients of every Galahdian dish.Bags and bowls set out with vegetables and spices, dried cuts of meat, salted jerkies and the coolers full of the freshes fillets. Noctis could barely identify the marbled perfection of garula from one farm, and anak from another, if not for their signs and labels and the encouraging cries of the sellers. Spices to compliment each red, thick steak on offer were displayed as cones in bowls, or piles of colour arranged across every surface. One stall displayed their arrangement and offerings in hanging terrariums, glass baubles strung across his stall like lanterns. 

The air simmered with the samples and heat of the place. The first open market of the season chasing away the winter’s chill blowing across the chilly ocean waters from Lucis with an abundance of spices and marinades and grills— boiling away the morning damp. 

Noctis paused at the stalls, curious, even as Nyx urged him forward. Urged him through the crowd and away from the morning offers of fresh herb breads and savoury rolls. Away from the skewers dripping with spicy heat and kissed by fires behind chaotic stalls. Away from everything that made his mouth water and his stomach rumble, already regretting this notion to visit the markets before breakfast. 

“Looks like there’s plenty of spice to me, hero.”

“We’re looking for something more sweet.”

“Sweeter than me?”

“Nothing’s sweeter than you.”

The stalls were decorated with their business names. Family crests, ranch mottoes, farm emblems and mascots all dotted the banners strung up between stalls and tables. Families wore matching uniforms, decorated the poles to support their awnings with drawings and carvings of their mascots, hand sewn plush of Astrals and beasts dangled at children’s height to entice shopping parents. 

And Noctis paused as he spotted one unusual beast emblazoned across a swath of purple in a sea of greens and browns and blues of other families. 

A young woman waved them over with a grin, a mask over her eyes reminiscent of the ornate patters of the Kingsglaive armour. Noctis smiled at the long curl of an ornate horn on one side, the curl of long whiskers braided into her hair with colourful ribbons and lines. 

Selena lifted the mask with the same wolfish grin so often seen on her brother’s lips. “You two should be helping!”

“We’re on vacation,” Nyx took a peek over the table, the sweetness of the pastries already seeping into the air around them. Behind Selena, there were long, stacked tubes; a honeycomb made large, as bees happily bumbled their way around the sweetness. The insects happy to be waking up in the warmer weather, along with the rest of the island. 

Noctis had been surprised by the beekeeping Ulrics indulged in. Galahd had small little things, bumping and buzzing their way from flower to flower everywhere. Unlike the monstrous beasts in Lucis that sent shivers down Noctis’ spine. He had been told every farm had at least one hive, every family cared for at least one box of sleepy, buzzing bees that were so much cuter than Noctis thought was possible. 

And the Ulrics kept plenty of bees for themselves. The honey, as it was, soaked into every pastry and bread and golden roll still steaming in the morning. The puff pastries with honeyed custard fillings were sold in bags of four, and Noctis recalled the sweet stickiness of their taste from the night before. The breads were noted as specific blends of honey and herb— a kick of cinnamon to glaze the heaviest breads, a cooling mint to entice the chill morning airs. Jars of honey piled high were still the best sellers; discounted stock from the season before stacked in pyramids and cones, sold as glazes and treats, still in cuts of waxy honeycomb.

But they were there for the main attraction. 

There were twists of crispy, fried pastry. Golden and bubbled and curled like the horn of the Galahdian coeurl the Ulrics had taken as their emblem. Noctis had watched them being made the night before, mesmerised by the methodical assembly line created by the little family in the small Ulric kitchen. Now, they had cooled from the sweet heat the night before, and were gathered in little mason jars like bouquets. 

Noctis had expected a drizzle of honey. A bit to just get them sticky to the touch, for the crunch of the dough to be left. Served cold, they still kept that crunch, but the curled strips were drowned in honey. The jars meant to catch the runoff and keep it settled like a wick as customers wandered the markets with their treats. 

Selena had a basket of them ready for him— six little jars, treats sealed together, and tied off with a ribbon. “Let me know when you’re going back to Lucis and I’ll make some more for the trip.”


	3. Forest Moogle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravus wants to maintain the New Year's traditions of his home.

There were traditions long lost to the machinations of the Empire and time. There were customs and superstitions that Ravus had never paid much attention to before. Never given much thought as his mother smiled and passed the knowledge on to Luna. 

There were traditions that— in the arrogance of his youth— he was willing to let die. 

“What are you doing?”

It was a temptation to follow now, as he realised that Noctis was awake, and padding towards him. The royal apartments of Tenebrae had since been modified from their coddling constructs at his request— allowing him room for a small kitchen, so he could rely on himself rather than the few servants they had kept from their original staff. Rather than rely on the chefs trained in the nihilistic, minimalistic, military kitchens of Niflheim. 

But it had meant that he risked these moments. These little intrusions he had not expected as he froze in surprise, hands still on the thin cake he was rolling, rabidly cooling as he had focused on utilising the short few moments he had to roll the thing perfectly. As perfect as how his mother had shown his sister. 

“Nothing.” He kept the shock from his voice, ignored the presence coming behind him. And resumed his task; “Go back to bed.” 

It was cold in Tenebrae— in the open, airy Manor he had returned to after so long in the frigid Gralea. He had wondered at the time, Noctis seemingly untouched by a chill on his arm, of how much Niflheim had just seeped into his bones. Of how little the climate of Tenebrae was left in him. Luna had greeted them with her usual exuberance, Noctis scooping her into a childish hug not befitting the decorum reserved for their mutual stations. But he had smiled, and greeted his sister with a kiss to her cheek. 

Over tea, and then dinner, he had learnt that she had forgotten the traditions herself. That the holiday they had returned for was as foreign to her as it was to him. That the Queen Oracle of Tenebrae had broken the long line of traditions they had both set aside to survive long years eking out peace across Eos. Ravus could never hold the error against her; he had been raised the same way. 

Fairy stories were far less meaningful when you were a ward of an enemy state. 

Ravus frowned as he glanced back behind him to Noctis, still approaching and still bemused. He slid the cake and its mess of coloured filling into a loaf pan to set, to chill while he tended the intrusive Lucian. 

“I didn’t know you could cook.” 

“Strictly speaking,” Ravus sighed, with nothing to do while a pot simmered and a cake set. He let Noctis approach, and stroked a hand from shoulder to scarred back as the other prince poked and prodded at the project; “it’s baking, not cooking.”

“You sound like Ignis.” Noctis smiled, even as Ravus settled his hand on the small of his back, where the scar disappeared into the soft pants used to sleep in. Pulled hastily on just as much as Ravus’ own unrefined clothes of similar pants and loose sweater. Ravus had rolled the sleeves up as he worked, hair pulled back and tied off just as he remembered his mother doing. 

“The sensible one.” Moving both hands to Noctis’ hips, Ravus shuffled him out of the way. A wooden spoon was set to stir the concoction on the stove top, and he resumed that task now. Before he could allow himself to be distracted. “Make yourself useful.”

“How do you want me?”

The smirk in the question was tangible and infuriating. Ravus huffed; “Away from the kitchen, if you insist on being like that.”

“You’re the one who left the bed early. To bake.”

“Yes, such a crime, I’m sure.” Ravus set the pot aside and turned off the heat. The glaze was a rich, royal purple— the berries used unique to his forest home. To the creatures that resided deep within the shadows. “Get me the bowl of berries from the fridge.”

He had candied the ulwaat berries the day before, once his plans had been set in motion. Once Noctis was off gallivanting with Lunafreya in their childish joy. He had planned and prepared and set everything needed aside, and tried to remember how he was shown. How his mother had explained the steps and the process. And he was loathed to admit that he had worried. Until the rooms filled with the sweetness of the familiar berries, with the soft vanillas and lavenders of the cake, and the rich warmth of the cream. 

He nodded his thanks as Noctis set the bowl on the counter next to him, and watched as the cake was moved to a wire rack. Skewered to hold in place until Ravus was certain of his handiwork. The glaze absorbed into the cake first, and Ravus worried that he had miscalculated. 

“I’ve seen Iggy do this, keep going.”

He continued to pour, and the rich, royal purple drizzled off the curve of the cake. It was not quite the consistency he remembered from his childhood, but he was pleased with the attempt. Noctis anticipated the next request, and Ravus accepted the knife to make the first cuts; the coils of white on white, with the rich purple accent was almost perfect. 

“What’s this for?”

“New year’s in Tenebrae, Noctis, is when the moogles are said to visit.”

“So you’re making them a treat?”

“Don’t be an idiot. Moogles aren’t real.” The candied berries were set to the pieces like round noses. “It’s merely a tradition.”

Noctis smiled as Ravus added a small scoop of brilliant red sorbet to the plate for the Moogle image to be complete. “I think I like this tradition.”

“At least your thoughts are working their way upwards now. This is a sample. The rest is for Lunafreya.”

“Happy New Year, Rav.”

Ravus set the sorbet back in the freezer, and the tray of nearly completed creatures into the fridge for later. He took his own plate and bit back the smile as he realised that Noctis was waiting on him, fork at the ready. “Happy New Year, Noct.”


End file.
